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The raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her head right, and then lay on their oars.

The river was not high, so there was not more than a two or three mile current. Hardly a word was
said during the next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed where it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of star-gemmed water, unconscious of the tremendous event that was happening.

They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty

steps within the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some

bacon in the frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn “pone”

stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting in that

wild, free way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and uninhabited

island, far from the haunts of men, and they said they never would

return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their faces and threw

its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their forest temple,

and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines.

When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last allowance of corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out on the grass, filled with contentment. They could have found a cooler place, but they would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting camp-fire.